Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series.
The Least He Can Do"I need you to die." The words ring cold in Hermione Granger's ears, so world weary and yet so needing. The voice both regretful and coaxing, bitter and wheedling. The voice wants her gone.
"Why?" She whispers, throat suddenly blocked and eyes suddenly blurred. She clenches her fists, breathing in deeply as if it is her last breath. "Why me?"
He frowns, deep eyes that once twinkled with hidden mirth now dull and lifeless. There is no spark to him that there once was. This war has gone on for too long, and any life that might have once flooded his veins was long gone. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, once merely speckled with gray now completely silver. It is closing in on the time of his transformation, and it seems harder to regain his strength after each full moon cycle these days. Remus Lupin is a beaten man, worn down to almost skin and bones, they all are. This war has gone on for too long, and they are fighting a losing battle. Most of those on the light side do not expect to live out the year, and it is only September. Things have escalated so much since June, and with Dumbledore gone Voldemort rampages unchecked across both Wizarding and Muggle worlds. There is nothing left to stop him, nothing except Harry Potter, and even he is beginning to grow weary.
Everything has gone on for far too long, and neither side is willing to give in nor can they summon more allies. It is at a standstill, and Remus Lupin hopes to change all that.
"He can survive without Ron; he would be angry but you would know how to calm him. He cannot survive without you."
Hermione is both flattered and devastated by the harsh words. She knows Harry needs her, but does that really mean she must die? "He won't do what you expect. Has he ever?" She doesn't even know what Professor Lupin expects, she just knows that he needs Harry to do something and the only way to achieve it is to have her die.
Lupin looks away, the sorrow evident in his eyes. "In this case, Miss Granger, I believe he will do exactly what we expect of him."
And suddenly she understands, her lightning quick mind having pieced together the sorrow, the riddles, the need. Her intellect has put it together like the pieces of a puzzle, and suddenly she knows why they need her to die. And the moment she realizes this the other pieces begin to fall into place, why the senior members of the Order hadn't been able to look her in the eyes lately, why her and Harry have been pushed to spend more time together, why she and Ron have been separated more and more often. They have been setting this up for weeks now, she realizes. They have been planning her death for weeks.
"Tell me, do you already have a coffin picked out for me and everything? Flowers arranged, a space picked out? Do you?" Her voice is harsh and shrill, borderline hysterical, and Lupin merely smiles sadly.
"You always were the smartest witch of your age, Hermione."
"Don't speak to me right now!" She shouts, not caring who hears her. Lupin has this so well planned she suspects there is a Silencing charm on the room, to prevent anyone from hearing their talk. "How dare you! How dare you decide this without my consent! Tell me, if I don't agree to this set-up, will you just send me on suicide mission after suicide mission until I don't come back? Is that the backup plan!" She leaps up from the chair she was perched in and paces the small office, so many emotions coursing through her that she can't even begin to take this rationally. There is no way to take it rationally. They planned for her to die.
She paces back and forth, back and forth, not speaking not thinking just feeling, grieving inside. She doesn't even know why she is grieving, but there is just a feeling that she is merely delaying the inevitable, the sense that she has died long before and is now merely waiting for her body to lay down and die. Remus Lupin says nothing, just watches her from the vantage point of sitting on the desk, watching her pace the room. There is nothing he can say. He really is a monster, he thinks. What kind of man would try and persuade a girl to die? But he is about to.
"It has to stop, Hermione." He pauses, waiting for her to snap at him or to reply. But she doesn't, she merely stops, her back to him as she listens. "The deaths have to stop. Neither wizards nor Muggles should have to suffer. He has to be stopped Hermione. Voldemort. We can't let him keep hurting people. And Harry… Harry has to defeat him. He has to kill him, but he doesn't want to become a murderer. Hermione… you're the only thing that's keeping him sane. If you die… he'll kill. The war will end. Peace will come. And all because of you, Hermione. All you have to do is volunteer for this mission. Just volunteer and everything will be over."
She is weeping, though he cannot see her tears. He knows it by the way her shoulders silently shake, by the way she seems to have tilted her head back to stop the flow. But when she turns to face him he is startled to see no sign of any grieving, rather, she is laughing.
"And at the price of what, Lupin? Peace will be gained at the price of what?" She gives him no title of respect, in her eyes he is no one to be respected. In his own eyes he is no one to be respected. He does not deserve a title, or even a name. "At the price of my life and Harry's sanity. At the price of thousands of wizard and Muggle lives. You'll have your peace, Lupin, but for you I wonder if it will be very peaceful. Tell me, do you think the sounds of crying children will ever cease to haunt you? Do you ever think the memory of Ron's and Harry's and my laughter will ever cease to make you grieve? I wonder, Lupin. I wonder."
He looks away, but she strides over to him and grabs his chin, yanking him around to face her. "You fucking bastard," she hisses, her brown eyes practically sparking at him. "You fucking bastard. How dare you tell me to die and then refuse to even look me in the eyes. You coward." She spits the word as if it were the vilest thing she has ever tasted. "At least Voldemort has the courage to look his victims in the eye! You can't even do that! Pathetic, pathetic man." Her words scathe him, burn him, torture him, but he cannot say anything back. Her words are the truth, pure truth, complete with its cutting edge. There is nothing he can say in his defense.
He cannot look at her anymore, the knowledge that he has to convince her to die is too much. Her death will be more on his hands than it ever will be on her actual killer's, because in truth he is the executioner on this block. As the elected leader of the Order he has suddenly found that this responsibility is not something he ever wanted, but now he has it. And he must do terrible things with it.
"Professor." The title holds no trace of scorn in it, nor respect, it is only a word now, a meaningless jumble of letters and shapes that we give meaning. But she gives it no meaning and he looks up at her from his musings to see that she is not angry, not grieving, not raging, not even laughing at the irony of it all. She is merely tired, exhausted. Her flame, so brightly it had burned, was now flickering and slowly extinguishing.
"Yes?"
She looks at him, and her eyes are blank and empty. "I volunteer for the mission."
He nods, breathing in deeply as if to combat the sudden weight that has descended upon him. "I understand."
Her face still holds no expression as she continues on. "Will you tell Harry I love him? Ron, too?"
Remus Lupin bows his head and agrees. "Of course."
She turns to walk out of the room, and he remains seated on the desk, aching inside. He never wanted this.
"Professor." Her voice once more calls to him and he turns his head to the side to see her, hand on the doorknob, her back to him.
"Yes?"
"It has to stop." She seems to be reassuring herself, consoling herself and maybe even him that there is a reason she must die, that she will not be giving her life for nothing, that she will not die in vain.
"Yes."
She appears not to hear him. "For the children."
"Yes."
She does not speak yet still remains in the room, hand on the doorknob, as if by leaving the room she seals her fate. He too remains unmoving, completely frozen except for his heart which screams at the terrible thing he has just done and his mind which seems to be carefully memorizing every moment, so he can hold it close to him years from now and grieve over it. So he can hold it close to him years from now and use it to punish himself for the terrible crimes he has committed.
"Hermione." He tries to speak, to say something that can somehow make things all right, but his mind and heart cannot grasp the enormity of what has taken place, they can only react to what he has already said. He cannot form anymore words now.
"Pray for me. When they torture me into insanity, with Crucio, ask God to send an angel down. Please. I can't do it alone. I'm not so strong." He can only see the left side of her face, shadowed and looking at the floor but still he can see the oh so human grief etched upon her features.
He winces at her whispered words, and cannot help the words that come rushing out of his mouth. "You're the strongest girl I've ever seen."
Her mouth twists into a sick parody of a grin and comes out to more of a grimace. "No, I'm not." Her quiet words seem too loud in the small, silent room. "If I were stronger Harry wouldn't have to kill, Voldemort would be gone, and I wouldn't have to die."
He doesn't respond, but she seems to have more to say. But instead of the question he expects, or even the request, a different one comes out.
"Will the flowers be red or white?"
"White."
She nods, and there is nothing more he can say, nothing more he will say. He has convinced her to die, and that is enough. He has done enough damage. She knows it as well.
She twists the doorknob and exits without looking back, vanishing into the dark hallway, her dark bushy hair fading quickly along with her robes into the shadows. It is the last time that he will ever see her, his last memory of her.
When he receives the news that Hermione has been captured, he will pray that God will send an angel down to sit beside her and hold her hand as she dies to save the Wizarding world.
And at her burial, he will toss a white rose upon her grave and when everyone else is gone he will sit and weep for the girl he once knew. And then he will get up and walk away and try to find out what was so good about this ideal that she died for, what was so good and powerful and wonderful about this cause that it would require a young woman's life.
He might find it, he might not. But for her, he sure as hell will try.
It's the least he can do.